


what you don't know won't hurt you (supposedly)

by Ms_Trickster



Category: Original Work
Genre: (im so sorry), (not like it does anything lmaO), .2 seconds, 15 year old me didn't wanna do research and neither do i, ? - Freeform, Alzheimer's Disease, Dad is doing his best, Dad isn't given a name, Gen, How Do I Tag, Implied Murder, Implied/Referenced Blood, Jam sandwiches, Liam is a snot nosed bRAT, Maybe - Freeform, Medical Inaccuracies, The Author Regrets Nothing, and she doesn't even say anything, because Dads and moms don't have names they're born as Dad and Mom, but whatever I'm tagging her anyway, feel free to hate him, hhnnnngggg OFC is there for like, i may be right so I'm holding onto that, nothing is safe from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24167917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Trickster/pseuds/Ms_Trickster
Summary: Something’s not right, I wanted to say.You’re hiding something from me; what are you hiding? Threatened to burst through my pursed lips.I don’t think the jam on your shirt is jam.“That sounds lovely,” I said instead.“Perfect.”-In which the main character wishes he had the memory of an elephant. He does not, however, and what kind of person would his doting son be if he didn't take advantage of that?
Relationships: Dad & Liam
Kudos: 1





	what you don't know won't hurt you (supposedly)

**Author's Note:**

> whaddup im Ms_Trickster, I'm 18, and I never fucking learned how to write anything other than angst

The sun gently warmed my face as I tipped my head to rest on the back of my rocking chair. The soothing motions threatened to lull me to sleep as my aching bones relaxed into my seat. Silence ~~_no not silence there was noise where is the noise_~~ hung heavy in the air with only the scattered chirping of birds to disturb it. Rocking slowly, I waited for the man ~~_I know him who is he_~~ that had disappeared into ~~_my_~~ the house to retrieve a blanket for me. Something about how winter would be moving in in a few weeks ~~_but how could that be it was just spring wasn’t it_~~ and how the winds were already getting colder. I did not know him, but the man was kind to me and allowed me to stay in the comforting rocking chair. He took care of the entire house ~~_in the middle of nowhere need to runrunrun as fast as I can_~~ while I only had to do the laundry. I didn’t even need to leave my chair for that! 

Behind me, the screen door swung shut, and the heavy footsteps ~~_don’t let him catch you_~~ that were somewhat familiar made their way towards me.

“Hey, Dad!” the man greeted me as he swung an old knitted blanket over my lap. I glanced up at him in surprise. His cropped brown hair and hard brown eyes were as familiar to me as my own features, which is to say not at all. Surely I would not forget my son  ~~_ he is no son of mine he is a  _ **_disgrace_ ** _ how DARE he _ ~~ ? 

“Hello.” I murmer slowly, staring at this man that is both my own and not, trying to rekindle the ashes of memories no longer there. “You are my son?” I hesitantly try to confirm and watch as his expression remains unchanged. No surprise, no disappointment. Has this happened before  ~~_ I am forgetting what am I forgetting _ ~~ ? 

The man- my son- places a gentle hand ~~_fakefakefake not gentle they’ve caused too much pain can’t be gentle_~~ on my arm and smiles reassuringly ~~**_fake_**~~ at me. “Yes,” he confirms, “I am your son. You don’t remember me because of your Alzheimer’s. Do you remember what that is?”

I rummage through my brain for an answer but come up with nothing. I shake my head and the man-my son-says, “It’s when your brain cells start to die and degenerate, destroying your memory. Some mental confusion is common, which means you might recognize something but not understand why.” 

I shift uncomfortably as a shiver goes down my spine  ~~_ remember you have to remember _ ~~ , pulling up the blanket to wrap around all of me. That explains all the blanks in my memory, and why I was automatically comfortable with the rocking chair. I lick my lips and gaze around the porch we’ve camped out on.  _ But,  _ I think,  _ this house doesn’t seem familiar at all.  _ “Whose house is this? Is it yours?” I ask, returning my gaze to him. I catch a flash of something on his face  ~~_ I am not supposed to be here I don’t want to be here  _ ~~ before he smiles again. “This was where you raised me,” he explains  ~~_ liar _ ~~ , leaning back and cracking open the beer in his hand. “As far as I know you spent most of your life and mine living here. You once told me you like it because of how isolated it was. No loud noises, lots of privacy, and the nearest neighbor is miles away.”

That… does not seem right. 

I keep that thought tightly caged behind my teeth, though. After all, I am the one with no memory. Maybe that was how I felt before ~~_ remember you have to remember  _ **_please_ ** ~~ ? 

With a mental shake, I refocus on the valley before me. For all my doubts and unease, the sight is truly beautiful. The silence could easily be filled with _~~screams~~ _music and people if we invited some. But the fact that living here would mean isolation takes away parts of its charm. I may not remember my son or my name or anything really, but the thought of living away from people ~~_hidden he’s hidden them find them_~~ makes me want to unfold my creaky bones from my rocking chair and sprint to my supposed neighbor.

I stay in place instead and rock back and forth gently, hyper-aware of  ~~**_the monster_ ** ~~ my son beside me. 

The sky is a blend of orange, pink, and purple when my son gets up  ~~_ oh no _ ~~ . Without a word he slaps a hand on my shoulder before making his way to the screen  ~~_ no no no please _ ~~ , and my eyes follow him until he disappears. It is only then that I realize I never got his name-or mine, actually. I turn my head back towards the sunset before me and decide to ask him after the sunset is over. 

True to my word, when the sky is blanketed in a sea of stars, I rise from my seat and hobble my way to the screen. As it shuts quietly behind me, I take in the living room. Pale blue walls were barely visible in the moonlight peeking through the windows to the right. A lumpy, brown couch rests against the wall and underneath the windows. The gray wool rug ticked the bottom of my feet as I made my way to the only hallway in the room. There were two stairwells there: one going up, and one going down  ~~_ is she still there _ ~~ . Glancing between the two, I rationalized that it would make the most sense for the bedrooms to be placed upstairs, and that the one leading downstairs most likely led to a  ~~_ cage  _ **_FREE HER_ ** ~~ basement. A ghost of a memory appeared before my eyes at the thought, and the images of a house flashed through my head. Bright yellow walls that seemed to cover a house about two stories high, and a basement someone had transformed into a recreation room of sorts. Memories of playing Foosball and ping pong with two boys older than me- _ brothers,  _ my brain supplied for once-danced across my eyes, and I smiled at the warmth that rushed through my veins. It wasn't much, but at least I knew I hadn’t forgotten  _ everything  _ ~~_ but you forgot what is of importance you fool get  _ **_her OUT_ ** ~~ . Putting a hand on the railing, I placed my foot on the first step.

The creak it made, however, was not loud enough to cover the muffled whine that seemed to come from downstairs. 

Halting, I cocked my head and listened intently for any more sounds  ~~_ please stay alive I’m coming I promise _ ~~ . Gifted with nothing, I removed my foot from the step and carefully made my way to the stairs going down, leaning over the railing. The stairs that went down curved, obstructing my viewpoint and the source of the noise. I made to make my way down, but paused  ~~**_hurry_ ** ~~ .

“Son?” I called softly. Down the steps, there was no moonlight to chase the darkness away ~~_ I hate this I hate  _ **_him_ ** ~~ , and my adjusting eyes meant everything was covered in darkness I had no hope of seeing through. “Is that you?”

Silence.

I frowned and shuffled a step forwards  ~~_ please _ ~~ . “I’m coming down,” I warned, hoping for anything to fill this awful silence.

Nothing again.

The steps cried and moaned as I made my way towards the bottom. There weren’t too many of them, thankfully, and at the end I came face-to-face with a door  ~~**_please_ ** ~~ . There was nothing remarkable about it; the wood was dark and peeling in some places, and it looked like any other door my fractured memory could recall. Yet, I still hesitated  ~~_ I don’t want to see it again whywhywhy _ ~~ to put my hand on the knob. 

Forcefully shoving my paranoia behind a mental door and slamming it shut, I squared my shoulders and used every ounce of courage in my aged bones to make my hand wrap around the metal knob and twist it. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

~~**_Please don’t be dead._ ** ~~

I only had the chance to see blonde hair lying on the floor ~~_oh god not again_~~ before my vision was blinded.

“Hey Dad! What are you doing up so late?” my son chirped, a wide ~~_too wide_ ** _run_**~~ grin revealing nearly all his teeth. His stance was relaxed as he leaned against the door frame, forcing me a few steps back. But I was close enough that the sweat dotting his brow and his too fast and shallow breaths ~~_too late_ ** _again_**~~ shattered the illusion of nonchalance. The unhinged look in his eyes made me believe that it would be ~~_safer not like her oh god_~~ better if I kept this to myself. 

“I heard a noise,” I said, watching him carefully as warning bells  _~~finally~~ _ started ringing in the back of my head, “and I came down to check it out.” 

My son’s smile widens. “Oh, that was just me making a snack.” Tilting his head, I caught a hint of amusement in his eyes. “A jam sandwich.”

“Is there someone else in there? I saw blond hair on the floor, I think.”

“That’s just my girlfriend. We were watching a movie and she fell asleep. I swear, she sleeps like the dead.” Here he laughed long and hard  ~~_ I hate you I hate you I  _ **_HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU_ ** ~~ , as if he had just said the most hilarious thing on Earth. Abruptly he stopped, straightened, and then, with the same smile he had started off with, said, “Why don’t we head up and have a little midnight snack? Together.”

_ Something’s not right,  _ I wanted to say.

_ You’re hiding something from me; what are you hiding,  _ threatened to burst through my pursed lips.

_ I don’t think the jam on your shirt is jam. _

“That sounds lovely,” I said instead.

“Perfect.”

My son led the way to the kitchen, looking back frequently to check if I was still behind. I tried to push from my mind any reason as to why he wanted to make sure I hadn’t gone back  ~~**_GOBACKGOBACKGOBACK_ ** ~~ . Sitting at the first tall chair I came across, I tried to order my thoughts as my son opened the fridge. Tangles of blonde hair on the floor from a girl that “slept like the dead”, the severe isolation from nosy people that would ask questions, and the jam that was not jam all added up to-

No.  ~~_ Yes. _ ~~ No!

_This. Is. My._ ** _Son._** I reminded myself firmly. Surely he wouldn’t do that. Surely. I must be overacting ~~_you’re not you’re not hELP THEM_~~. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and-

I opened my eyes. 

Confusion ran through me as I met the sight of an unfamiliar kitchen. I stared at the wooden cupboards and blue and white tiles, trying to understand what was in front of me. Soft humming caught my attention and I nearly got whiplash from how fast I turned my neck to the stove where someone appeared to be making a sandwich. Heavy relief turned my limbs to jelly, and it took effort to remain upright. 

“Liam, my boy,” I called out to him, rising from my seat (when had I sat down?) and making my way toward him. Brown eyes, as familiar to me as my own set, looked my way and crinkled when he smiled. I set a gentle hand atop his head and mussed up his hair. 

“Where in the hell are we?” I demanded, scanning the room again. Looking back at him, I was about to spit out more demands when something caught my attention. “Is that blood?”

Liam laughed and shook his head. “No, just making you a jam sandwich, Dad.”

“Ok, but where are we?”

“We’re in Georgia.”

That sure brought me up short. I stared at my son as if he had just told me he was pregnant. “Son,” I said slowly, “we live in Brooklyn.”

“Sorry to tell you, but we haven’t lived in Brooklyn since I was 17 and about to head to college.”

I was faintly aware of how I slowly shook my head, but my focus clutched onto finally taking in my son’s features. Where youth had once lined his face was long replaced with the faintest wrinkles and aging skin. There were small lines by his eyes; lines that disappeared into crinkles that appeared when he smiled. Those hadn’t been there before, I was sure. 

Taking hold of my hand as I stood still in shock, Liam gently pulled me to the chair I had first found myself in. Once we were both seated, a feeling of déjà vu swept over me as he turned serious eyes ~~_not serious that bastard he’s laughing he knows he’s won_~~ on me.

“Have you ever heard of Alzheimer’s, Dad?”

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this literal years ago as a short story assignment for my creative writing class and only remembered about it like a week ago, cleaned it up, and decided to post it. also i know literally nothing about Alzheimers so don't @ me plz. feel free to leave a comment or kudos! thank youuuuu <33


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